Spring Fever

Sun shining. Snow melting. Riding season is just around the bend. We're barely out of the first week in March in Northeast Ohio, but spring fever ignites my soul. The lawns are still covered with plenty of snow, but the blue in the sky, the road is so dry -- I feel the need to roll.

It was good to hear the familiar sound of my bike's engine running in the garage. Comforting, that she started right up out of dormancy. After giving the bike a full circle inspection -- Tires. Controls. Lights. Oil. Chasis. Stands. -- I apply some chain lube and gear up for a short trip to the gas station.

The first ride of the season is always a little awkward. Maybe it's the big, bulky winter gloves. Maybe it's the double layer leather and Thinsulate. Most likely, it's because I haven't ridden in a few months, and my reflexes feel rusty. As I ease out the clutch and the wheels start to roll, I let my legs dangle a little longer than I normally would before putting them on the pegs.

The first turn, from my driveway to the street, is a tentative one. The curbs are still loaded with snow. There is still salt on the road. When I reach the stop sign, my left foot comes down first on instinct. Good. Like riding a bicycle. Out in traffic, I'm extremely cautious. Even watchful motorists aren't looking for motorcycles in March.

At the Shell station, I fill her up with premium. The engine's hot and I've shaken the dust and threatening rust from forming on her chain. Mission accomplished. But it's nearly fifty degrees. Only a few miles from here is Chagrin River Road, the valley run where I cut my teeth on every vehicle I've ever owned. By the time I pull out of the gas station, my bike and I are one, and we're taking the long way home.